Stalemate
by Cliscia
Summary: Love was out of the question. What it was, then, was mutual hatred and codependence. Bronzeshipping, Canon-based


**For mystralwind for she is amazing and writes the most awesome Yuugiou porn ever. Check her out. Hope its angst level is too your liking.**

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For Malik Ishtar, life was good. Well, not so much _good_ as it was _satisfying. _Because if it was _good, _then_ he_ would not be there. But it wasn't as if Malik Ishtar mused over such things, because as history tended to repeat itself… you hate the things you fear, and fear was not an option for Malik. He could not live his life in fear, and so, he would not hate. The only person he would hate would the Pharaoh, not the quiet whispers in his mind.

A seething, pooling, burning hot feeling of revenge coursed through his veins. A feeling of adrenaline and power, of complete and total ability to _succeed. _For once in his life, things were going right, and nothing would rebuke the little bit of happiness that he felt. It was not a transient thing, because Malik knew that it would finally, finally happen; he would kill the Pharaoh. Oh, yes, he would kill that man, and hurt him beyond repair before he would do so. He would torture his friends, his host, play with his mind… Perhaps carve the same markings into his back like the ones that Malik had to carry. He had already found his host, after all. All that was left to do was to bait the hook.

For the first time in his life, Malik Ishtar felt complete.

Well, not so much complete, but something only a small bit short of content, like a child knowing the present they would receive on their birthday, without yet ripping off the ornate wrappings. Except, for Malik, the wrapping paper on _his_ present would be adorned with blood, and not ribbons.

"We've found the Pharaoh's host's home, Malik. He will be participating in a local dueling tournament; Battle City. Your thoughts…?"

Malik rested his cheek upon the back of his hand, crossing his legs as he sat upon his throne. He looked down at the man who kneeled before him, his shadow, his brother…

"My thoughts…?" Malik's lips curved upward into a small smile as he looked out the window of his room. "My thoughts are that I will do whatever it takes to kill and humiliate him. What better way then to do it by the ways of his own game? You should know that by now, Rishid."

The Egyptian tensed a bit when he heard his name being said, but kept his head bowed. Malik looked down with disinterest. He had known about the tournament long before Rishid had ever learned of it; was he that slow? Of course he would enter. It was only the most reasonable choice of action.

But… There could be… Consequences…

"Rishid…" He had waited so long for these days, this time where he felt his goals just out of reach, and he wouldn't let it end so easily. Malik watched as his adopted brother and servant lifted his head to look at him. "Since the time is coming close that I will meet the Pharaoh, I'm going to need some… preparation." The tone in his voice wavered, and Malik coughed, not used to letting his strong front drop so easily. Clearing his throat, Malik continued. "This means that I will need to be left alone. I can't allow anyone to disturb me. …You can take care of this, can't you?" His voice left a hint of threat in it, but they both knew that fundamentally, his threats were always without a solid base.

The bowed figure's emotions seemed to shift from slight trepidation to concern, and he looked up with a slight bit of fear.

"Malik, you don't mean that-"

"Of course not!" Malik swiveled in his throne, his eyes wild as his heart beat fast in fear. He could not know, nobody could! Malik did not show his vulnerabilities on his face! No! He was powerful, strong! Nothing could tear him down! Or at least… the world could never know that he did have a weakness, that he did have his demons. He would not be seen as weak. He would deal with his fears by himself. "Of course not…" Calming, Malik slumped back in his chair. "I just need to… deal with some things by myself, and it's crucial that I remain undisturbed."

"Yes, I see…" Rishid's eyes softened, still filled with worry, but he knew Malik well. He knew that he would never accept help, that he would fight to the death, and let the stress bring him down with it. And if it kept him happy to not accept help, then… he would do as the situation commanded. "I'll do as you ask, Malik. I'll be reliable for you, you don't have to worry."

Malik's lips were closed tight as he looked down at him from his throne. The kneeling position his brother was in reminded him of his power. Power… Malik looked away suddenly, staring out the window of the boat. His eyes narrowed.

"Go, then, I need to be alone."

Rishid left without a word. Though, he usually didn't speak much, and left communication up to body language. Malik's mindset wavered just a bit when he turned to him, looking right at him, before shutting the door and leaving him alone.

Alone.

The room he was in seemed suddenly larger, more threatening. Malik seemed suddenly small. He gulped. But no, it didn't matter. He was leader of the ghouls, had two God Cards at his disposal… What did he have to fear?

"Nothing, absolutely nothing…" His voice was almost a whisper as he spoke to himself, eyes lowering as he stood.

He watched the floor as he walked, without thinking. Thoughts were a barrage of firepower against his mind, a constant attack. It was good not to think, sometimes. Just let go. It made him feel empty. He liked that, feeling empty. It was much better then feeling the weight of the thing inside him.

Malik's heart skipped a beat, pausing outside the door of his room. He stared at the cold metal of the door. Malik did not think as he turned the knob.

The room was cold as he entered, having forgotten to close the window. The sea air had a way of making him feel unusually nervous, something he didn't like. Maybe it was the idea that he was surrounded by water, when he had been so used to being surrounded by sand. Malik shook his head, setting the senen rod on a table before walking over and slamming the window shut harder then was necessary.

With his back turned to the room, Malik was vulnerable.

Whispers in his mind, breath against the back of his neck, darkness taunting him.

Malik looked out of the corner of his eye to the rod laying on the table. It was still. It reminded him of his stable power. If not his mind, at least his dominance would never waver.

He exhaled slowly. The feeling of air entering his lungs, filling him, and then leaving quickly as he got rid of useless carbon compounds- mechanical. He did it without thinking, operated as any other human did. Oxygen, water, protein… He wasn't invincible, he was only human. At the core, all Malik was made up of was organs and tissues, biochemical pathways and chemical reactions; physical sustenance. Consciousness… his conscious mind… where did it play into it all? The one thing that screwed him over again and again? His mind was the only place that harbored darkness.

_Play, plaaay… You need it, want it… Don't deny hatred, Malik. What you aren't capable of doing, I supply._

Yuugi would die. That, he knew well, above all other. The Pharaoh, Yuugi… he would pay for what he had done to him. It was his fault! There would have been no suffering, no darkness, no pain if it weren't for the Pharaoh! He would kill him! That's what he was doing. _That's_ where his mind came into play; to calculate and plot. Though, a double edged sword. His mind was what perceived pain.

"The pain will be gone once the Pharaoh is dead, though. …"

He supposed it was true. It _would_ be _had_ to be true! Malik looked to the side. The darkness inside of him was created by hatred. It fed of it, was the way it lived and survived. Without the Pharaoh, with him bleeding retribution… Malik would have no one else to hate, and his dark side would die.

Right?

He counted on his theory to be true. It was his only faith, after all. Malik had no god, his heart lied in the hope that one day, his mind would finally be cleared.

And what would he do once the darkness was gone…?

"Nothing. I won't do anything. I'll be lifted, freed. I won't have to do anything. No more plotting, no more revenge…"

The way his voice sounded, soft, small, alone, in such a large room made him feel equally as small. Already, the feeling had returned. He ignored it. He needed to ignore it, he had come here for one reason, one purpose. He had put it off, but he couldn't ignore it any longer.

His bed felt cold underneath him as he pulled the cloak of the Ghouls off of his body and laid down. It often felt restricting, and was much more comfortable to just lay in his normal outfit. The springs of the bed squeaked when he turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

_I'm lonely, I'm so lonely… It's very cold. Can't you feel me burning, Malik? I hate you._

Breathing made him feel calm. His heart rate slowed. His eyes closed. He breathed, breathed… Slowly, very slowly… And let go of his hatred.

Pooling black. Clawing fire at his psyche. Hatred, hatred. Anger. It was tantalizing, his mind begging him to give in. Because he _did_ hate. So much. The kind of hatred that resided in his lower stomach, that made him burn as it slowly traveled upward, lighting his entire body on fire. His skin burned, aching to just give into the madness. But that was not Malik's part.

It was _his._

And as the calmness took him over, suppressing hatred, Malik felt coldness start to seep into him. Burning coldness, so similar to the hatred. But not violent, as the anger was. The cold was smooth, languid, and it seduced him into unconsciousness.

Malik's physical body remained breathing. Malik's subconscious lived without air.

-

There were flowers beneath his feet. Dead flowers crunching underneath the bare soles of his feet. Blackened and browned with decaying age, the remnants of their once beautiful color dulled to monochromatic grey. Cracks in the ground, crumbling walls around him. Pillars stretching high into the endless ceiling, a blank sky. And it was cold, so, so cold as Malik's arms around himself squeezed tighter. He wasn't naked, but he wore no clothes. He just _was_, just _existed._

Down to the very basics.

Haunting loneliness took him over, clenched his heart in an overwhelming ache. He breathed hard, letting go a sole whimper as he continued to walk. There were voices around him, filtered voices, chanting. The old language. Breathing was hard, the ache filling his lungs as he continued forward, his hand running along the wall of a crumbling building.

It was his mind at the center, after all. This was who he was. Crumbling walls, a crumbling mind.

The withered plants beneath his feet seemed to beg him for water the more he moved on. Something to quench the ache, the pain. But the pain fueled him, he had one destination in his mind. His pain was his fear, always, always pushing him forward.

"The parade of agony reaches a stop only when the conductor drops his baton."

The arrival of his dark was always sudden and spontaneous. His presence was heavy in his mind, but almost unrecognizable when Malik was face to face with him. And so he was. Face to face. His dark looked at him with lowered eyes as Malik's own widened. His dark grinned his malevolent hatred.

"You-"

"I. Me. Us. We. _You._"

His words countered Malik's own. They mocked him. His dark knew what he was going to say- his dark knew his every thought. Malik's eyes narrowed from their previous state. He had no plan.

Mariku laughed suddenly then, throwing his head back as his body shook with the force of dark humor. The sound of his laughter made Malik shiver, stepping back, away from his unwanted child, the sound of the flowers crunching under his foot.

"Your child, Malik? But you are my god… I was created in your image. Not a child. I have no parents, you are my only original."

"No, you are my creation! You are an unwanted _child_ of my hatred!" And as Malik grew angry at him, Mariku only grinned, seeming to grow larger although his body remained the same mass. He always looked at him with a twisted grin.

"Unwanted, Malik? So what will you do? Abort me, send me to an orphanage? How do you plan on getting rid of me, housing me somewhere else when I exist solely inside you? I am shackled to your own insanity!" His words mirrored the stability of Malik's mind as his face twisted. "And let me feel it, Malik. You are making me- us- stronger…"

His words made him sick, an ill feeling forming in his throat. Malik continued to step backwards, wary of Mariku, his dark, as he advanced towards him. But as Malik's mind had not reached insanity, Mariku could never quite reach him.

"No, I'll kill you myself. I'll kill Yami no Yuugi, and then you'll be gone along with him. You'll bleed along with his host."

Mariku looked a bit surprised at his words, although he hardly showed it. He tilted his head to the side, a childish action for the incarnation of malice. "Kill? Kill, Kill?"

This was a game that was often played. One word, a specific word, would cause a sudden and complete realization in Mariku's mind, an enlightenment of language and it's linked idea. Of course, Mariku knew all too well what murder meant.

"Will you kill the Pharaoh? Will you use the rod, as I did on our father?"

"How I do it is none of your concern! All you can do is watch from my mind as I kill him and kill you!"

"It should be me, Malik. I should kill him, I need to kill him. I am here to protect you, just like the beginning. I will be the one to kill the Pharaoh."

"Shut up, shut up!"

Malik squeezed his eyes shut, grabbing his head with both his hands as he tried to rid himself of Mariku's words. Of course, it wouldn't work, as he was the one speaking them to himself… He hated this. He hated this part, the most. The times when Mariku would revert back to his younger self and the purpose he had had in the beginning- to be Malik's scapegoat, to take the pain he couldn't handle.

He couldn't handle it, though. He had created Mariku to help him, and Mariku was himself. He spoke the words alone, solely. It was a single conversation between him and himself. And yet… it wasn't. And Malik was scared.

"Will you try to will me away? Poor little Malik. Poor lost, sad little Malik… Doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to accept his own insanity. Let me do it, Malik, let meee…"

He hated when Mariku grew younger, when Malik needed him to be younger to deal with pain. The young Mariku had been created to help him deal with his lost childhood and the murder of his father. He didn't want reminders, he didn't want fake innocence! He wanted him dead, dead! He wanted him gone, away and out of his mind! All he wanted was solitude and peace! Sadness, loneliness, depression. It made him ache, eroding at his mind and heart.

"Don't you feel it, that loneliness? That is what I feel, one of the only emotions you allow me, other then hatred. Can't you feel how it eats away at you, makes you go mad with sadness and longing?" Mariku's hands were on his shoulders as he kneeled behind him. Malik hadn't remember dropping to the ground. "If you accept, Malik, it won't hurt anymore… All I want is for us to be one. That's what you want, I want. We are the same. You are me and I am you. What I want, you want."

"I want to kill the Pharaoh." It was his voice, Malik's own voice.

"I want to destroy all light and order, plunge the world into darkness." It was his own voice, Mariku's voice.

"I want you dead." Malik.

"I want to become one with you, myself." Mariku.

"I want power." It was both of their voices. It was Malik's voice alone as he spoke to himself inside his mind.

"We need revenge."

There was one reason why Malik had entered his mind. To make peace with his dark side, or, at least, declare his imminent death. He had not wanted accordance. He wanted him dead, dead! But Malik could gain no ground. The battle within himself was a chessboard. But how could he kill his own animosity when, each move he made led to a stalemate?

"Can you kill yourself, Malik?" Mariku's voice was always hauntingly smooth, seductive, the constant pull at his mind. He felt the physical embodiment of darkness ghost across his body. Mariku's arms were winding around him. He was plunged into hypo and hyperthermia at the same time. "Are you strong enough to truly rid yourself of me?"

"I will kill the Pharaoh." His voice was a whisper. Mariku's touch sucked the warmth out of his already freezing body. His lips barely moved.

"And fuel your hatred in the process. So much hatred… You love to hate, and you know it feeds me. You take such good care of me, Malik. It's good to know that you will never truly kill me."

It was Malik's own hands as they wrapped around himself. Malik was Mariku, after all, as he switched voices and mindsets, unable to come to terms that he was alone in his insanity. His dark was himself.

"I don't need you." Malik's voice. Still, a whisper.

"I need you." He changed to Mariku's voice, and felt breath against his lips.

"I hate you. I am going to kill you." Terror. Slow, agonizing terror.

"I hate you. I love you. I need you. You will never kill me. We are one."

Malik knew he was insane. He had always known it, from the very beginning. Mariku did not exist, was only a name he gave to his imaginary demon. Mariku was his excuse for the unfathomable enmity that resided within his soul. And so, if Malik was Mariku, why did he feel another pair of lips that pressed against his own? Malik kissed the embodiment of his own insanity.

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**Review or I write a fic where Malik isn't fucked up and/or is in a high school fic/ angeldemon fic/ band fic. OH GOD, PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME DO THAT. PLEASE REVIEW.**


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